Although I created this blog to be about my own tubefeeding adventures, this post will unfortunately have nothing to do with eating through a tube. However, my grandfather is 93. Like the other dwindling members of the greatest generation, Grandpa doesn't have too many years left in him. I feel it is important to give people a window--however tiny--into his generation's courage and sacrifices. Plus, this is my blog so I can write whatever the hell I want, right?
So, I copied Grandpa's account, and I've reproduced it here. I hope you'll take the time to read it.
One note about the language used: Frequently Grandpa refers to the enemy as "Japs." I hope you don't feel offended by this slang. It was common for American soldiers, and our own propaganda machine, to call the Japanese "Japs," or much worse. Please try to look at my grandfather's story through the lens of the times. I think the language is pretty tame compared with other accounts, or American propaganda for that matter, about the Japanese enemy after Pearl Harbor.
_______________________________________________________________
"THE INCIDENT"
AUGUST 1 - 2, 1943
by William F. Liebenow
The Search for JFK by Joan and Clay Blair, Jr. is another book purporting to explode the myth that John F. Kennedy was a war hero. Excerpts from the book have been printed in the sensation seeking news tabloids which use the Kennedy name in headlines as bait to attract readers.
The book is supposed to separate the real JFK from the legend. It is to insure that in so doing, the real JFK is not destroyed, that I feel compelled to write this.
Since the book quotes me on PT tactics and procedures, and how Kennedy failed to follow them, this account will deal predominately with his war adventures. Besides, that is the Kennedy I knew best.
My criticism of most books dealing with Kennedy's war record has been that the writers were not PT boat sailors, they were not at the scene at that point in time and, least complementary of all, they were "nit pickers" and sensation hunters trying to find flaws in his military ability to prove him an unfit President. Or, they went the other way and tried to build up a couple of incidents involving war action against the enemy into extraordinary feats which qualified him to be a world leader.
Let me say here, Kennedy was no more or less a hero than any other PT boat sailor. To my knowledge he never claimed to be. He was given the Navy and Marine Corps medal for saving the life of crewman Patrick McMahon after the PT 109 was sunk. I have never heard or read anything that suggests that he was not entitled to this medal.
All arguments concerning JFK's ability as a PT boat skipper center around the incident when his boat, the PT 109, was rammed by the Japanese destroyer, Amagiri, the night of August 1-2, 1943 during action north of New Georgia Island in the South Pacific.
"How could a Jap destroyer ram and cut in two the more maneuverable PT?" has been asked many times.
"They must not have been awake."
"JFK panicked!"
"The engines failed."
"They had only one engine in gear when they should have had all three engaged."
These are some of the "Monday morning quarterback" remarks that have gained credence over the years.
"Where was Kennedy when Brantingham's PT 159 and Liebenow's PT 157 attacked?"
This is often brought out as a kind of slur on Kennedy's bravery. Articles pointing this out often imply that JFK ran away from the action or at best failed to engage the enemy. This doesn't make much sense. If Kennedy was shy in attacking and ran away, why should he hang around for a couple of hours and end up getting rammed?
As pointed out at the beginning of this article, my criticism of the writers is that they were not PT sailors, nor were they present. Thus they could not possibly understand why JFK reacted as he did.
With this in mind, let the reader go with me back in time and see what it took to mold a PT boat and its crew into a fighting unit.
. . . . .
My own love affair with PT boats started in early 1942 when I first heard how a PT boat had taken MacArthur out of the Philippines. Then commander J. D. Bulkeley, who commanded PT Squadron 3 and directed the mission, came to Northwestern University Midshipmen School looking for PT boat volunteers. Of course many of us jumped at the chance and were interviewed by Bulkeley personally. Those selected moved on to Newport, R. I. to torpedo school and then PT school at Melville, R. I. Here we got our first introduction to the boats. We learned that there was a lot more to operating a PT boat than just grabbing the wheel and charging at a big enemy battleship with torpedoes flying. First we learned the boat--its length, beam and draft, the cockpit, the chartroom, the radio, the torpedoes, the guns and the smoke generator. We learned that a PT boat had three engines, each operating its own screw. This was most important in maneuverability. It meant that we could have one or two engines going forward and one going astern or vice-versa, giving the ability to turn on a dime. We also learned that this capability was there only if the helmsman (the boat skipper usually took the helm during action) and the motor machinist mate operating the engine worked as a team.
The speed of each engine was controlled from the cockpit by the skipper manipulating the throttles. To change direction of the engine it had to be shifted by the motor machinist in the engine room in response to the throttle indicator from the cockpit. This meant that in close operations the engineman had to almost anticipate the moves of the skipper.
The necessity for this close cooperation was brought home to me quite vividly during boat handling exercises one day at Melville. We were just completing maneuvers and I had the controls to bring the boat into the dock.
Over the din of the engines, the instructor yelled in my ear, "Make this a good one, Commander Kelly is watching from the dock!"
Well, I surely wanted to impress Kelly as he was in Melville looking for officers for Squadron 9 which he was forming to take overseas. Commander R. B. Kelly had been the Executive Officer of Bulkeley's Squadron 3, and was the hero in the book, They Were Expendable.
I started pushing the controls around--forward on port, aft on starboard, then aft on center, ahead on starboard, then back on port. Each time the controls were moved from forward to aft the motor machinist mate in the engine room had to throw a big gear shift for that engine. The engineman, a young fireman in training as I was, was just one shift behind me all the way. It was physically impossible to keep up with my gyrations. To make a long agonizing story short, we ended up with the boat six feet from the dock heading out to sea with the instructor screaming and Commander Kelly walking away shaking his head. He must not have known who the young Ensign was who tried to get the boat in that day, because I ended up being accepted in Squadron 9.
My next big moment was when I took command of my own boat. At this time we were in Brooklyn Navy Yard taking delivery of the boats. They were being built by the Elco Boat Co. at Bayonne, NJ, and as the officers and crew were formed, they would go over, get their boat and bring it in to Pier 19. I was down on the pier one day watching a new boat come along side. There was a strong breeze blowing seaward, and the skipper just couldn't get that boat alongside. He'd get the bow in, a crewman would throw over the bow line, and a dock hand would secure it. Then he'd back straight away and the guy would have to release the line at the dock. After about the fifth attempt, and remembering my fiasco at PT school, I jumped aboard as the bow hit the dock and asked if I could try it.
"For God's sake, do anything!", he cried.
First of all I walked back to the engine room hatch, signaled the motor machinist [MM] to stick his head up, and yelled in his ear asking if there was a problem with the engine.
"I couldn't shift this damn starboard engine in reverse--its O.K. now", he yelled back.
So I took over the helm and controls, hoping the MM had gotten things under control. The boat moved toward the dock, me keeping the dock on the port bow, going right at the pier until the last second; then I slammed the starboard engine control into reverse, then threw the throttle forward to full speed. This made the starboard screw rev up in reverse because I had the power on before the MM could shift back into forward. The boat sat down alongside the dock like a parked automobile. The crew threw over the bow and stern lines, and that was it.
To this day, I don't know if Commander Kelly heard about this incident or not, however, I got the next boat, the PT 157, out of Bayonne.
. . . . .
JFK was respected and liked by his crew. It must be remembered that at this time nobody knew he was going to become President, so the crew's respect he earned, and people liked him because he was likable, even if he did talk with that Boston - Harvard accent.
I'm sure all the experts who have recorded the account of the PT 109's sinking have interviewed Kennedy's crew, trying to uncover some dissension between him and his engine room personnel. They never uncovered any, so we should be safe in assuming that any signal given to the engine room from the cockpit was answered promptly. The evidence here begins to pile up in favor of the theory that the PT 109 was cruising along with only one engine in gear. Lending credence to this theory is Kennedy's own statement made sometime after the incident, that he would not recommend patrolling without having all three engines engaged.
Squadron 9 boats would not operate without three engines engaged. Commander R. B. Kelly and Lt. Hank Brantingham knew more about PT boats than anybody else in the Navy. Kelly was a tough C.O. [Commanding Officer], but then to whip a bunch of ex-school teachers (that's what I was) and farmers (my quartermaster had his masters degree in animal husbandry) into shape and keep them alive, he had to be.
Kennedy had joined PT's a little later and had come out with the 109 as a replacement boat in another squadron. The night of August 1 was his first major operation with Squadron 9. Our practice was, when in danger of attack or in enemy waters keep all three engines engaged. There was, however, some logic in operating with one engine engaged--mainly, one engine exhaust created less wake and therefore the boat was harder to spot. By using one engine you might be able to sneak in closer to the enemy and fire your torpedoes without being seen. As far as we were concerned, the ability to maneuver and get away fast far outweighed the fact of not being spotted. Anyhow, that's what we were trained to do and that's the way we did it.
. . . . .
Commander Kelly was Navy all the way! Out of Annapolis in the class of '35 or '36, he ran a taut ship. Early in our shakedown training out of Toboga in the Pacific off Panama City, he came aboard the PT 157 for inspection. For once we had everything in order, the deck was clean, the engine room spotless and the crew stood at attention and saluted at the proper time. Everything went well until he was leaving. He stopped in the cockpit, which was the station of Waldo DeWild, our quartermaster.
"Waldo," he said disarmingly, "your underway colors look a little frayed. You'd better trim off the loose ends."
"O.K.", answered Waldo like he would to anyone.
Commander Kelly looked at Waldo like he couldn't possibly have heard right. You can imagine a QM/2 telling the squadron commander, a Lt. Com. [Lieutenant Commander], out of Annapolis, "O.K." back in 1942 in reply to an inquiry! The only response was, "Aye, aye, Commander."
Kelly turned white, then livid, then red. "What do you mean, O.K.!" he screamed.
Waldo still didn't realize what he'd done. "You know, O.K. means I'll do it," he replied as if explaining a new word to a three year old.
I was sure this was the end. I could see Waldo in the brig and me confined to quarters and removed from command of the 157. I couldn't take my eyes off Kelly's face. Finally I saw the corners of his mouth start to turn up and his eyes soften slightly. Maybe he was thinking that he didn't have officers or men to spare--at this stage I was the only officer aboard the 157. Anyway, he turned, shaking his head.
"Liebenow, I want this crew trained in the proper way to address the Squadron Commander!" With that he walked off.
These were the little things that knit a crew together. Every man above heard that exchange and we all felt a little closer because of it.
. . . . .
On Aug. 1, 1943, when the PT 159 moved in to fire on the enemy, we maintained position and also fired two torpedoes. The 159's torpedo tubes caught fire, thereby alerting the Japs that we were there. We were carrying four torpedoes and the sequence of firing was one, two, three, four. They were fired by the boat executive officer pressing buttons in the cockpit on orders from the skipper. If the buttons failed, the torpedomen standing by on each side struck the firing mechanism on each tube.
When I yelled, "Fire One!", "Fire Two!", "Fire Three!", "Fire Four!", only torpedoes one and two fired, the other two misfiring. None of the cockpit buttons worked, and the torpedoes were fired only because our torpedoman, Welford West, hit the firing pins. All this time we were under intense fire from the Jap destroyers. We were laying smoke, zigzagging, and had our engines wide open. In addition we were trying to hold position in respect to Brantingham's 159 boat, hoping to create enough smoke to hide behind or throw out puffs for the Japs to shoot at.
Some write-ups on this action say all the PT 157's torpedoes misfired. Two of them did; the other two fired, but missed the target.
I have been asked why I didn't look for Kennedy to see why he wasn't following us in. In the first place, J. R. Lowery's 162 boat was supposed to be next behind the 157 and Kennedy's 109 was to keep station on the 162. When the 159 fired and the tubes lit up, drawing fire from the Japs, we certainly didn't have time to look around, worrying about who was following us. Another thing, we did not have radar. At this stage of the war radar sets were scarce and only a few boats in Squadron 9 had them.
The simplest explanation of all is probably the true one: the PT 162 and PT 109 just lost contact with the rest of section "B", that is, the PT 159 and PT 157. In other words, they got lost. This undoubtedly happened sometime before we made contact with the enemy and made the initial attack.
. . . . .
Squadron 9 had just arrived in the Solomons area and we were island hoping to get to Tulagi, which was the PT base near Guadalcanal. The boats had been shipped over on tankers and had been unloaded at Noumea. The entire squadron of twelve boats with Commander Kelly in the lead boat had sailed through the first night without incident. PT boats were night operators; it was rare that they moved in daylight anywhere near enemy areas. The blacker the night the better! You quickly learned to love the blanket of blackness that hid you from enemy planes and made it possible for you to slip in close to the enemy ships. There was the disadvantage of not being able to see your own forces, however.
Our boat, the 157, was nicknamed "Aces & Eights". Back in Toboga during shakedown, our boat artist, Harry Armstrong, who was really a motor machinist, had painted the "dead man's hand" on the forward part of the cockpit. It was a beautiful insignia and as time went on it seemed very appropriate for the 157.
I felt like I was holding the hand the second night out of Noumea. We had been selected to bring up the rear of the entire formation. We had done a great job the first night, everybody pulled into the first stop right on schedule. We spent most of the day fueling the boats and getting ready for the next night's move. We pulled out just at dark, heading for Star Harbor. At this time we didn't even have detailed charts of the area. We depended on station keeping, holding our formation, and following Commander Kelly, who had the charts and knew where we were going.
Along about 0200 I felt relaxed. It was a beautiful night, stars were out and we could spot the wakes of the eleven boats ahead. I eased down into the charts room, which was just under the cockpit, leaving the executive officer at the helm. I slumped down on the stool laying my head on the chart table. In two minutes I was sound asleep. (The thing I remember most about WW II is that I never got enough sleep. I think it was true of most PT sailors--I never saw one who couldn't drop off in two minutes.)
"Liebenow, where the hell are you!", I awoke to the radio screaming in my ear.
It was Commander Kelly's voice, and I was wide awake in an instant. One thing I knew, you didn't make excuses, and you'd better make a sensible reply!
"Coming into position," I spoke into the transmitter.
I climbed up into the cockpit and looked around while my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I questioned the executive officer. He wasn't quite sure, but he thought the rest of the boats were up ahead. All I could see ahead or anywhere was the Black Sea. No little wake tails to mark the other boats, just black water. I knew Commander Kelly's boat had radar and if he'd lost us we must really be out of position. Our Exec, John Ruff, had come aboard after shakedown and had not gone through the intense training in Toboga; he had not lived with us long enough. Mainly he did not know which member of the crew to rely on for which thing. The original crew that put the 157 into commission seemed to adapt as a team almost from the first. I never had trouble handling a boat in close quarters, because Dan Jamieson, our lead MM, knew me like a book. Coming into a dock he seemed to know exactly when and which engine I was going to shift. So too, I knew who the real saltwater seamen were on board. Without hesitation, I walked around to the front of the cockpit and motioned to Welford West, our torpedoman, and the most experienced sailor in the crew.
"Where the hell are the other boats," I tried to keep my voice calm.
"Broad on the port bow, but we're going away," he answered matter-of-factly.
First I turned to the cockpit, yelling at John Ruff, "Turn port 45 degrees, and push those throttles up full!"
Then I started looking in the direction West had pointed out for those tell-tale wakes. I had no doubt that we had made the right move. Now it was just a matter of time until we could get into position.
Sam Koury, our radioman, crawled up out of the chartroom and pulled on my arm. "Commander Kelly wants a report on our position," he said. "He seems a little upset--said something about a new boat captain."
"What did you tell him?"
Sam grinned. "I told him we were coming into position. I'll bet right now he's on that radar operator for not being able to pick us up."
By this time our whole crew was alert--everyone topside except our lone MM in the engine room--we were all straining to catch sight of the other boats. I watched West. Pretty soon I saw him relax and start to look around. I knew he'd spotted the others.
About this time Jimmy Smith, our gunner, leaned out of his 50 caliber turret, and yelled in my ear, "They're about 5 degrees off to port."
I took the wheel and eased her 5 degrees to port. By now I saw the wakes of the other boats and in a matter or minutes we took up our assigned position.
After my little "interview" with Commander Kelly the next morning, the PT 157 became the best station keeper in the squadron.
. . . . .
It is doubtful Kennedy or Lowery knew that the 159 and 157 had made an attack. Of course they had seen and heard the firing of the Jap destroyer, but had assumed it to be from shore batteries on Kolombangaro. Certainly if it had been shore batteries the best tactic was to lay low unless you're discovered. The 162 and 109 boats were probably at a distance of five to ten miles from us. With the DD's landward firing out at us, it is easy to see why they assumed it to be shore fire.
Our next move after the attack was to find Brantingham and see what kind of shape the 159 was in and get further orders. At this stage we weren't sure that the torpedo tubes' burning was merely a powder flash from firing torpedoes or that they had been hit.
We had kept pretty close, covering for each other with smoke puffs, and so had little difficulty pulling up alongside. The 159 was in good shape but had no torpedoes left. Since we still had the two misfires we were ordered back on patrol after assuring Brantingham that the two misfires would now function. We moved off, now operating independently, heading back to the area of the late action. We had resumed patrol and were within 5 to 10 miles of our patrol area when we saw a light flash in the distance. We were certain that one of the PT's had scored a torpedo hit and so headed that way, hoping to get in a shot. We were moving along at about six to eight knots, trying to keep our wake down, maintaining the direction for about an hour. We saw nothing.
If the flash was the explosion and burning of the 109 it was probably farther away than we had figured. Remember we knew nothing of the ramming and were looking for the Jap destroyers. After an hour's run toward the flash, we started a patrol pattern zig-zagging slowly toward Kolombangaro, then turning south toward New Georgia. We continued at this until the first streaks of dawn, then headed home.
At the boat captain's debriefing the next morning I was to hear for the first time of the sinking of the PT 109.
Of course we had lost boats before, but in those cases there had been some of the crew around to tell how it had happened. This seemed to be a total disappearance with no survivors.
. . . . .
One night in early July, the PT 157 was patrolling in its usual station off the starboard quarter of the lead boat. Commander Kelly was in the lead boat and you can bet we were keeping station.
Sometime after 0100 we spotted five Jap DD's moving toward the PT base at Todd City. Todd City, our base on Rendova Island, had been named in honor of the first man from Squadron 9 killed in action. It was the PT base set up on one of the islands near New Georgia at the time of the invasion of that island.
This was close to home and we had to break up the formation and keep them from shelling our base.
We instantly began our torpedo run. Kelly didn't have to give any signal--we followed him in. To make certain of hitting your target, the best way to aim from a PT boat was to bring the boat to the speed of the torpedo, get on a collision course with the target and fire. This meant coming up to 28 knots and homing in on the target.
We were spotted and all five DD's started firing. We kept boring in. Finally, Kelly's boat fired on the lead DD. We took the next one in line, but I held off firing--we were too close! So close in fact we could see the Japs running around on deck and hear them screaming. They were still firing, but couldn't depress their big guns enough to hit us. They began firing down on us from the rail with small arms.
The torpedoes we carried were Mark VIII torpedoes. To have them explode on contact, they had to go through the water far enough to activate the firing mechanism. There was an impeller in the warhead which turned as the torpedo went through the water, this armed the detonator so that the warhead would explode on contact. Torpedoes were built this way to keep them from going off as they flew out of the tubes and also to give time for the gyro to stabilize them so they would run true to the target. We were so close that the torpedoes would have just bounced off the side of the DD and not gone off.
Therefore we turned and headed away from the target. Now the fire really got intense. Shells were not only falling around us, they were hitting. We continued out about 300 to 400 yards, made a quick 180 degree turn, lined up as quickly as possible and let fly two torpedoes. Our aim was true, or we were lucky--we scored a hit! Now the other DD's really started pouring it on.
I felt the boat settle in the water like we'd shut down the power. Jamieson was yelling something up the voice tube from the engine room, but the din was so great I couldn't understand. We still had some power, but it was useless to turn and run. So we did the only thing possible: kept going straight toward the next two DD's, and ended up going right between them. They continued to fire and as we passed through--for just a few seconds--they were firing at each other. By the time they straightened that out, we were a good 200 yards away. Now to kill the wake I pulled the throttles back to neutral and we lay there dead in the water, under that blessed blanket of darkness.
The fear we now had was that the Japs would throw up flares and spot us. But they had had enough and steamed away without firing a shot at the base.
Jamieson, Aust and Armstrong, our three MM's, took quick stock of the engine room and the news wasn't good. The center engine was knocked out completely and there was trouble with the starboard engine. Although it would still run, it was leaking oil from a bullet hole.
About this time Sam Koury came up and said, "Commander Kelly wants to know when we'll be in position to give chase."
We still had two torpedoes and West, Macht and Smith were assaying the damage topside. The tubes had been riddled with machine gun fire--even a couple holes in the warhead of one torpedo. The saints be praised that the 350 pounds of TNT didn't explode!
Well, what do you say? We made up a little code on the spot and transmitted to Kelly, "Cold potatoes and rotten fish; moving slow."
The DD's were long gone. However we eased along on one engine searching until the first streaks of dawn, then headed home. We counted sixty-three bullet holes in the 157 the next day! The good news was that no crew member had been hit. Our insignia "Aces & Eights" was unmarred.
. . . . .
How did it happen? How could the PT 109 have been rammed and sunk by a destroyer? Many articles and books have covered the subject, but of course most of them were written after Kennedy became President. Robert J. Donovan wrote the book, PT109, in 1961. The story was then eighteen years old. Donovan did a great job of research; he interviewed everybody that he could find who had known Kennedy during that period, myself included. However, he was not there at the time, nor was he a PT boat sailor.
It's amazing how the story gained prominence over the years. From an incident to a happening, to a glamorous adventure. So the story grew as Kennedy gained fame in the political arena.
I have a newspaper clipping from the AP, "release dateline Aug. 8, 1943 (delayed), somewhere in the South Pacific." It is from the Fredericksburg, VA, Free Lance Star. It is a short two column item, titled, "Lt. Liebenow, City Officer, Is Skipper of Rescue Boat." It then tells of the sinking of the 109 and lists the survivors, and devotes two paragraphs to McMahon's burns. It says nothing of Kennedy's saving him. It quotes Kennedy as saying McMahon was a "terrific guy." It states that I was the skipper of the rescue boat and that Hank Brantingham commanded the mission.
My home town was Fredericksburg, VA, and this clipping my father saved and gave to me shortly after the war.
I have another clipping from the Grand Rapids Press, Grand Rapids, MI. Its dateline is Oct. 13, 1960. It is front page and carries my picture. Bold headlines declare: "He Saved Kennedy."
A long story follows covering Kennedy's war adventures along with my own. Grand Rapids was my home during the 1950's and 1960's.
. . . . .
The PT 162 and 109 had been joined by Lt. Potter's PT 169. The 169 had been in Section A along with three other boats and had gotten separated from its lead boat. The three boats formed a group and resumed patrol.
Out of the blackness came the Jap DD's, the Amagiri heading directly at the PTs.
The reports differ. The captain of the Jap destroyer is quoted as saying that he gave orders to turn to port to miss the PT, however the ship turned to starboard and ran directly into it. He made this statement after Kennedy became President.
Lowery's PT 162 made an attack on one of the destroyers, missed and got out. Potter in the 169 also fired, missed and got out. This left the PT 109 still supposedly idling on one engine with the Jap DD coming up along side. By this time they were too close for torpedoes to explode even had they fired. The next thing Kennedy knew the DD turned sharply to starboard and knifed right through the 109. The 100 octane gasoline exploded, caught fire and burned in seconds. The bow remained afloat and the stern with the engines sank. Eleven of the crew were alive, two were killed in the explosion. The survivors herded together and finally reached land.
. . . . .
At Todd City life went on as before. After getting refitted with new torpedoes the PT 157 returned to patrol duty.
Before the sinking of the 109 Commander Kelly had taken half of Squadron 9 to Lever Harbor on the opposite side of New Georgia to set up a new base. We felt the war was moving on and waited expectantly for word to join him. But the PT 157 was slated for one more mission out of Todd City.
I don't know when the first message got through that eleven of the 109 crew had survived the ramming. There was some talk about the Australian coast watcher, Evans, having been in contact with Kennedy, but the first concrete evidence we had was the arrival of the two natives, Biuku and Eroni, with the now infamous coconut shell with Kennedy's message:
"Nauro isl
Native Knows Posit He Can Pilot
11 Alive Need Small Boat
Kennedy"
Commander Warfield, the senior officer present of all PT's had all the messages and he, Brantingham, and Cluster, the commander of Squadron 10, Kennedy's squadron, must have discussed and decided on the rescue mission. I'm sure that Brantingham was selected to command the rescue, and I'm sure they picked the PT 157 as the boat to make the pick up because they knew it would be done.
. . . . .
One day during shakedown at Toboga I got a call to report to the Squadron C.O. immediately.
"Captain ________, (I don't recall his name) has to catch his ship. He's at the dock in Panama City and the ship is already well out to sea. Get over there and get him to his ship," Commander Kelly ordered.
"Aye, Aye, Commander."
On the way back to the boat I was pondering the situation, but I wasn't about to question the actions of a four striper. I didn't know Captains missed ships too!
We got underway immediately and covered the ten or so miles to the dock in about twelve minutes. The Captain stepped on board before we had even gotten the lines over. He gave me the ship's heading as he returned my salute. As soon as we cleared the dock and submarine net, I pushed the throttles wide open and came right to the heading he had given.
For a couple minutes he stood there in the cockpit hanging on to the hand rail. He looked a little nervous, but I figured he'd be O.K. as soon as his ship came into view. I didn't know, and I guess he didn't know either, how far the ship had gotten. I found out he had a more immediate worry! He grabbed my arm almost pulling it from the wheel.
"You're going right through the mine field!!" he yelled.
"No problem, Captain, at this speed we go right over them."
He just stood there staring at me.
To get through a mined harbor, you had to follow exactly the channel marked on confidential charts. We usually did this when coming into Panama City, but actually if the PT was up to planing speed there was little danger of setting off a mine six to fifteen feet down. Anyway I thought the Captain was in a hurry!
It didn't take long before we were clear of the mine fields and in a few minutes the forward lookout yelled back, "Target dead ahead."
"Is that her, Captain?" I asked.
"That's her." He smiled.
As we came alongside and they dropped the loading ramp, the Captain took my hand as I started to salute, "Thanks, young man. I hope you make it through this war."
He turned, saluted and climbed up the ramp.
. . . . .
It was a week after the PT 109 was rammed that we set out to make the pick up. There were extra people on board, Lt. Brantingham, Lt. Cluster, a pharmacist mate, the two natives and a newspaper reporter, in addition to our regular crew: John Ruff - Exec., Waldo DeWilde - QM, Welford West - TM [torpedoman], Dan Jamieson - MM, Harry Armstrong - MM, Harry Aust - MM, Jimmy Smith - GM [gunneryman], Macht - GM, Sam Koury - RM [radioman], Harold Goodemote - GM.
(During the Presidential campaign in 1960 Kennedy made the remark to me, "Lieb, if I get all the votes from the people who claim to have been on your boat that night of the pickup, I'll win easily.")
As was normal, we made the run at night, timing our departure and speed to arrive on scene during the blackest time of night. In the cockpit were the two natives, Hank Brantingham, and myself at the helm. Others were in and out, John Ruff and Waldo DeWilde were trying to chart a course, and Sam Koury was manning the radio, trying to keep in contact with John Battle's boat which was to furnish radar cover. We lost contact with the radar boat shortly after leaving the base.
I've often been asked why a boat with a radar wasn't selected to make the pickup. I'm sure my thinking is prejudiced, however, here it is. A crew with experience and seamanship ability was needed, and most of all, one that wouldn't panic under pressure. This was the crew of the 157. As for the boat, we had been on her since she hit the water at Bayonne and knew every plank in her. If we went, old "Aces & Eights" would carry us.
. . . . .
During routine patrol soon after the Munda landings, we were number four boat in a section patrolling north of Kolombangaro. The section leader was a new replacement Lieutenant and we were in the same station in the section as was the PT 109 when it was sunk.
The sea was calm and the night black, ideal for PT's on the prowl. Somewhere around 2300 hours, Dan Jamieson, who was looking out the engine room hatch, came up in the cockpit.
"Looks like we've got it easy tonight; I just saw the green and white flare."
This meant friendly forces in the area and we assumed we'd spot some of our own ships before long.
Then our radio cracked out, "Bogies dead ahead. Prepare to attack!"
This was something new. We had been used to following Kelly or Brantingham and needed no radio message to prepare to attack. If the enemy was there, we would make our move in with the lead boat; we held close station and always spotted the target at the same time as the lead boat.
"Form line abeam to starboard. Execute!"
We could see the other two boats begin to move up on the starboard beam of the lead boat. But we couldn't see the target. We normally operated under radio silence because the Japs were usually on our frequency and would sometimes even talk back to us. Since radio silence was already broken we sent a message to the lead boat.
"We don't see the target; we did see the green and white!"
"Fire your torpedoes," was the return message.
Since we could still see nothing to fire at, we held off. The other boats fired and pushed their throttles wide. This caused a big stir and three big rooster tails of white water. The next thing we knew we were being bracketed with shell fire--at least five inch we figured, probably from DD's. We could now make out silhouettes and still believed them to be U.S. Navy DD's. But we didn't call them friends anymore!
We started escape tactics, laying smoke puffs and zigzagging while changing speed. I was at the wheel and skimming close to Kolombangaro, when suddenly someone grabbed the wheel screaming, "Let's beach it! Let's beach it!"
Every natural instinct made me fight to hold that wheel, but a man in panic has super human strength and I could hardly keep away from the beach, let alone continue zigzagging. Jimmy Smith, GM, standing in the .50 cal. gun turret right by the cockpit saw the commotion, reached over with his .45, and gave the man a swipe across the back which caused him to release his grip and come to his senses.
I shall not reveal the man's name. Those things happened. Look at it this way, if the next salvo of 5 inch shells had hit when we zigged, he would have been right.
Welford West, who had been operating the smoke generator on the stern, came into the cockpit and told me we were about out of smoke. The other boats had fired their torpedoes, were able to make speed and get away. We were catching all the shell fire.
The only thing to do was lighten our load and run. I headed toward the beach again and fired the torpedoes; at least I knew there were Japs on the island. With our tubes clear and throttles wide open we skimmed around the island, across the strait and were soon out of range.
At the boat captains' debriefing the next morning I was put on the carpet for failing to come to and hold attack position. That is, until we got the report of other naval activity that night which showed that a task force of U.S. Navy DD's had engaged what they thought were Jap PT's in the same area at the same time.
Of course the reason our section leader had been able to set up an attack and fire on the DD's while they were not visible to the eye was because the boat he was riding had radar. At this point in time the PT radar was not augmented with a torpedo director. About all you could do was line up the boats using the calculated speed of the target as indicated by the change in position on the radar, and lead the target (since you knew the speed of your torpedoes) enough to have the target and torpedo meet. This was great as long as the target didn't change course and/or speed while the torpedo was on the way. Since naval vessels during war patrols changed course and/or speed every few seconds to avoid such setups, there was little real chance of scoring a hit unless you had time to study and know the pattern. Submarines were able to score unbelievable hits because they had sophisticated equipment and time to study the target movements.
. . . . .
Every article I've read about the pick-up has gone into great detail about how tense the crew was and how we expected to be blown up any minute by either Jap shore batteries, ships or even planes.
To the crew of the PT 157 this mission was routine. We knew the general area of the sinking from the reports of the natives and the dispatches from Evans. Besides we had patrolled this area many times. We followed all the usual tactics for operating in enemy controlled waters--that is, run at patrol speed to keep the wake down, and change course in a zigzag pattern to prevent being zeroed in on by the Japs tracking from planes or shore batteries. We followed our charted course to the general area, then the directions of the natives to the rendezvous with Kennedy. He fired a rifle as signal and I replied with my .45. We hoisted him aboard and he joined the group in the cockpit to guide us to the island holding the rest of the PT 109's crew. In some articles describing this part of the mission, statements are made indicating that there was some argument between Kennedy and, as they say, some members of the PT 157 boat crew, as to how to proceed through the reefs between the islands and how close in to go, etc.
I don't know who in the boat crew was supposed to have taken part in this debate. I never heard any arguments. JFK stood between me at the wheel and the two natives. He pointed out the direction, the natives agreed, and we headed out. When we got in close enough to worry about running aground, I stationed Welford West in the bow of the boat and took directions from him. To me the only person on board that could countermand my orders was Hank Brantingham, who was my senior officer and in command of the mission. He didn't.
Once we got up close to the island and put over our small dingy, it took only a few minutes until the entire crew was aboard.
This was a joyous occasion, there was much handshaking, back-slapping and kidding going on. Of course the wounded were treated first. They were taken below to the pharmacist mate [PM], but even they joined in the revelry. The PM passed out the "torpedo juice" (medical alcohol), and medicinal brandy and pretty soon everybody was singing. The natives knew "Jesus Loves Me," so every song that was started ended up "Jesus Loves Me".
The crew of the 157 still had a job to do. We backed into clear water, spun around and headed for home. It wasn't until we could spot the dark mass of Rendova Island and Todd City that I relinquished the wheel.
It was then that I got a chance to ask JFK how it all happened. The crux of his reply was this.
"Lieb," he said, "to tell you the truth, I don't know."
As previously stated, in later questioning Kennedy implied that the PT 109 had only one engine engaged and that he would not recommend patrolling this way. This does not satisfy some people, they argue that even with one engine the 109 should have been able to avoid being rammed. I would say that those people have never been in close operations in a PT boat against the enemy. One engine operation was probably a mistake but the same thing could have happened with all three engines engaged.
I believe Kennedy when he said he didn't know how it happened.
. . . . .
The PT 157 finally got orders to proceed to Lever Harbor on the far side of New Georgia Island, to join Kelly and the rest of Squadron 9.
Kennedy got another boat and continued operations out of Todd City and later Lambu on Vella Lavella Island. The duty in both areas was similar. At this point in time PT's became personnel barge fighters. The idea was to keep the Japs from moving men from island to island so they couldn't concentrate their troops or escape. Also PT's helped move marine strike forces behind the Jap lines.
One night the 157 and another PT were ordered to escort three LSD's [Landing Sip, Dock ships were designed to land personnel or vehicles directly on beaches] carrying a force of marines around to the north side of New Georgia so they could wipe out a pocket of Japs on that side of the island. At our rendezvous the skipper of the lead LSD and the ranking marine officer aboard wanted to know how two PT boats were going to defend them, especially against enemy aircraft. They weren't worried about surface vessels since our own DD's were patrolling the sea lanes covering the entire area of operation.
We didn't have a set plan of action but said at least we could add our twin .50 caliber machine guns and our 40 mm cannon to the fire power of the LSD's in case of attack.
During the middle of the night the attack came. A group of three Jap planes spotted us. We heard the drone of aircraft engines and decided the only course of action was to invite attack to the PT's and draw them away from the LSD's. We revved up the engines full speed throwing up high rooster tails, zigzagged across the black water, threw out puffs of smoke and fired our guns in the direction of the aircraft engine noise. The Japs took the bait and dived at the PT's.
It was no trouble for a PT to out maneuver one plane. You waited until he committed himself to a dive then turned to port or starboard, leaving a puff of smoke for him to shoot at or drop his bomb on. He would complete his run and bank around for the next attack. Usually he'd head back to the same smoke puff, or, thinking he'd scored a hit, continue on his way. With three planes it was a little touchy, especially if they were experienced and came at you from different angles. You could zig right into their line of fire. However, this time they were greedy and tried to get both PT's. This meant dividing their forces and we were easily able to evade them. After three passes they continued on their way.
It was gratifying to accept the cheers from the marines when we returned to our stations in formation with the LSD's.
. . . . .
The saddest patrol the PT 157 ever made was the night Sam Koury was killed. Several days before, we had made a daylight run to drop off a couple of marine medics at one of their outposts along northern New Georgia. I was sitting on the chartroom canopy idly watching them unload their gear. When all was clear I started to move back around into the cockpit and found I couldn't straighten my right leg. My knee was locked. Sam Koury held me down while Welford West yanked my leg back into place. The pain almost knocked me out, but I was able to move the knee. I hobbled around a couple of days but couldn't function very efficiently. Commander Kelly ordered me to the Navy field hospital at Guadalcanal to get checked over by a doctor. Squadron 9 carried two Pharmacist Mates, Chief Radford and "Doc" Lawrence. They were both great guys and did a fabulous job trying to keep us alive and healthy. Of course we didn't have X-ray equipment and they both felt this is what was needed to pinpoint my problem, so I boarded the next boat to Guadalcanal.
The PT 157 continued its regular patrol schedule. It was on its first patrol during my absence, while making a strafing run on a Jap personnel barge that Sam was shot. The Japs were using long personnel barges to reposition their forces in the islands. The PT's tried to intercept and sink these vessels. These barges carried machine guns on each end and each man carried a weapon. A barge loaded with 40 or 50 men could put out a lot of firepower. It was normal attack procedure for the PT to head straight in at the barge firing the bow 37 mm gun. These guns had been added to PT's for this purpose. You would close to approximately 40 yards then swing broad side firing the .50 caliber machine guns and the big 40 mm on the stern, while swinging the 37 mm and keeping up its fire.
This was wide open combat. It was like a group of guys in an open field at 40 yards firing at each other with machine guns, rifles and even .45 pistols while at a dead run. If we were able to get in a few good hits with the 37 mm and the 40 mm we could sink the barge; most of them would head for land when attacked, the men would abandon the barge, and fire from the beach. They would often have support from their shore batteries.
It was while feeding ammunition to the 37 mm that Sam Koury was hit by machine gun fire from a Jap barge.
I learned of his death while reading the dispatches from Squadron 9 that came through the com center at Guadalcanal.
The doctor had diagnosed my trouble as a loose cartilage in my right knee. He gave me a choice, I could go to Australia and have it removed, maybe ending up with a stiff joint the rest of my life, or endure the pain until it settled back into place. I told him I was fine since he had given me a knee bandage to wear and would like to return to my unit. The bandage kept me from bending the leg too far and also kept whatever was loose in place. I was soon back to normal, provided I was careful not to bend the leg too far.
. . . . .
After Kennedy lost the PT 109 he was given command of PT 59. By this time the lower Solomon's were fairly secure. The big Navy was ever present and controlled the sea lanes.
It was time for the PT's to move up. Kennedy had aggravated an old back injury as a result of his exertions at the time of the sinking. He had made numerous long swims during the week before the pickup trying to intercept our regular patrols. I'm sure he was in great pain. But physical pain was a part of life in those days; you just kept doing what you had to do. With your shipmates getting killed around you, you felt lucky to be alive and be able to feel pain.
The problem arose when the injury impeded the performance of your duties. With the success of a mission and the lives of others depending on your reactions you'd better be able to function!
Kennedy's condition worsened, although he tried to ignore it. The back didn't improve and he was forced to limit his duty.
. . . . .
On my return to the Squadron 9 base at Lever Harbor I was assigned to the base force for a few days. I expected to be restored as skipper of the PT 157, but this was not to be. When I was ready for patrol again Commander Kelly assigned me to ride as section leader. This meant I rode the lead boat usually of a four boat section. I was now the "old" Lieutenant (JG) and about ready for another half stripe to senior grade Lieutenant.
The activity around Lever Harbor and the rest of New Georgia slackened and we finally got orders to move up. Our next base was established on Treasury Island. This was a small island within striking distance of Bouganville which was the last stronghold of the Japs in the Solomons.
The biggest thrill we had in the whole campaign was when Admiral Halsey flew into our base at Treasury on a PBY ["Patrol Bomber" or flying boat]. I was ordered to meet the plane and bring him to shore. Halsey was the fighting man's Admiral. He showed up all over the Pacific wherever the action was, and thereby gained the respect and admiration of sailers and marines everywhere. He even rode a PT on patrol with us!
. . . . .
JFK did not follow us into Treasury. His back injury kept flaring up and he finally was ordered back to the states.
. . . . .
My orders came through in February 1944 to report back to Melville, RI. I had flight orders which meant, even with the delays between islands, I got home in about seven days. I missed seeing Kennedy in Melville, being there only a couple weeks before I got orders to England.
This was a different war. PT's were patrolling the [English] channel and running special missions. My outfit was operating out of Dartmouth, England.
The most notable event of my life and I suppose of the thousands who took part, was the Normandy Beach invasion, D-Day, June 6, 1944. I was a special officer on board the PT 199 which was assigned patrol duty around the communications vessel controlling the landings near Cherbourg. Our first assignment was to escort the rocket launcher boats into the beach. This was at H-4 hours. These were LCVP's [Landing Craft, Vehicle, Personnel] modified to hold bank on bank on bank of rockets. They were driven right into the beach and the rockets released. This added up to a lot of explosive power from a very small vessel. You got only one shot--all rockets were released at once--and then you had to get out. The shore battery fire was intense, many of these boats were destroyed.
As daylight arrived you could grasp the vastness of the allied armada. There were ships and boats everywhere! It must have been something to see from an airplane. We were so engrossed in our own little sector that we had no time to look around.
Sometime after sun up we were patrolling our assigned sector when one of the destroyers exchanging shots with a shore battery took a direct hit and blew up. For the next couple hours we were picking the crew up from the water--that is, the survivors.
This was the first time in my life that I had ever given artificial respiration. Our entire crew was pulling people out of the water, checking them over and pumping air into them by the old back pressure method. I don't recall exactly how many we pulled out but I do know the PT 199 was loaded and we took in tow a full life boat. We deposited the entire lot on board a hospital ship and returned to our station.
We stayed on station at the landing site five days and nights. I don't remember going to sleep to sleep during this whole period for more than a few minutes at a time. We tried to rotate watches in the orderly Navy manner, but every time you'd get to sleep something would happen and general quarters would be called. We were happy to get orders for a mission back to Dartmouth which allowed us a couple days rest.
Our channel crossings continued as we ran various missions from our base to the mainland. I spent a year in Europe and finally got orders back to the states.
. . . . .
As Jack Kennedy's political star rose, every incident in his life became news. People became interested in everything he did or said, from the way he combed his hair to what he thought of the Pope.
When my connection with Kennedy became known through news accounts during the 1960 campaign I began to get "fan mail" and phone calls. 99% were from people expressing good wishes and sending compliments. The other 1%, which of course you felt the most, were expressions of hate. These expressions came mostly from anti-Catholics. They were worried about having a President under control of the Pope. The amazing thing was they somehow blamed me!
. . . . .
I don't know how the history books of the future will record the sinking of the PT 109, or if indeed they will record it at all. I would imagine that it will grow into a semi-legend of fact and exaggeration--something on the order of George Washington cutting down the cherry tree and throwing a silver dollar across the Rappahannock River.
As with the destruction of the cherry tree, it was not the incident but what the man did afterwards that swelled it to historical importance.
amazing account & slice of history from an extraordinary man
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